Spencer's Deal
by AmazingLadar
Summary: Set in 'Crossroad Blues' S2E8. Sam and Dean's conversation with George Darrow brings them to Santa Barbara, where the third person to strike a deal with the demon lives. Season 2 Supernatural, Season 1 Psych. Rated T for safety, but nothing too crazy, not even swearing.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello lovelys! This Fic is a big deal for me. It's my 20th FanFic ever written!**

**So, this isn't going to be a very long Fic. Maybe 5 chapters?**

**Set Season 2 Supernatural, Season 1 Psych.**

**DISCLAIMER: First half of this chapter is taken DIRECTLY from episode 2X08 (Crossroad Blues). I don't own the dialogue between Sam, Dean, and George Darrow. Also, while we're at this, don't own Supernatural or Psych or their characters, but that should be obvious.**

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><p>Sam and Dean Winchester, hunters of all things evil, had found themselves in Greenwood, Mississippi, after hearing of a series of 'Dog Attacks'. Yeah, that's what they were. The Winchesters knew better than to believe the stories that the others had come up with, so it was back to the usual hunting for them. After finding out just what they were dealing with – Hellhounds, much to Dean's annoyance – they were finally able to take a step forwards in their hunt. They found the crossroad that had lead to the initial summoning of the demon, and found the photo used for the ritual. After questioning people at Lloyds, they knew just where to go.<p>

The two brothers made their way up the stairs of the apartment complex that they were instructed to go to. "What's this guy's name again?" Sam asked

"George Darrow," Dean responded, "apparently quite the regular at Lloyds. And his house… definitely not going to end up on MTV cribs or anything."

"Yeah," Sam laughed. "Which means whatever deal he made, it wasn't for cash"

"Well, who knows, maybe this place is filled with babes in princess Leia bikinis," Dean shot Sam his usual smile as he continued up the stairs. Sam just rolled his eyes and audibly sighed. "I'm just saying, this guy has one epic due coming. The least he could do is have some fun," Dean continued, as they found themselves on the right floor.

Sam was tempted to respond to his brother, but didn't even bother, as they had finally arrived at room 4C, the apartment they were looking for.

"Look at that," Sam says, pointing to some sort of dust on the floor by the door.

"What is that, pepper?" Dean asked, crouching down and feeling the weird substance.

The door suddenly opened, revealing an aging, African-American man.

"Who the hell are you?" he barked.

"George Darrow?" Dean asks

"I'm not buying anything," The man in the doorway said before trying to slam the door on the brothers.

"Woah, woah, looks like you got the wrong shaker there," Dean said quickly, referring to substance under door frame, in attempt to gain the older man's attention, "Usually when you want to keep something evil out, you go for the salt."

George glanced between Sam and Dean, clearly debating answering and being cooperative, before he finally shook his head, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about this," Dean said as he took out the photo from the crossroad box that they had found only moments ago. George looked at the two brothers, the fear clear in his eyes. "Tell me, you seen that hellhound yet?"

"Look," Sam says, trying to play 'good cop' in this situation. "We want to help. Please. Just five minutes"

After a moment longer of hesitation, George Darrow finally lets the brothers into his apartment. The two brothers followed him in, looking around and taking in the man's living environment. Sam and Dean glanced at each other, before Sam spoke up, "So what is that stuff?"

"Goofer dust" George answered, receiving nothing but blank looks from boys. George rolled his eyes before turning back to face the Winchesters. "You boys think you know something about something, but not _Goofer dust_?" At the second round of blank looks he received from the brothers, he huffed and threw a bag towards them. Dean quickly shot a hand up, grabbing the bag before it fell to the floor.

"Well, we know a little about a lot of things," Dena said, recovering from the unexpected throw. "Just enough to make us dangerous." He continued.

"What is it?" Sam asked, quickly acting as the diffuser between his brother and George.

"Hoodoo… my grandma taught me. Keeps out demons."

"Demons we know," Dean said, with a confident smile

"Well then, keep it. Maybe it'll do you some good." George walked off towards one of his painting, turning his back to both Sam and Dean. "Four minutes left," he calls

"Mr. Darrow, we know you're in trouble," Sam tried.

"Yeah, that you got yourself into," Dean commented, earning a glare from his brother.

"But it's not hopeless, alright?" Sam continued, ignoring his brother. "There's gotta be something we can do"

"Listen, I get that you boys wanna help. but sometimes, a person makes their bed and they just have to lie down in it. I'm the one that called that demon in the first place."

Dean shot an 'I told you so' look at Sam, before turning back to the man in front of them. "What did you do it for?" he genuinely asked.

"To be great. I mean, who don't want to be great? Who don't want their life to _mean_ something? I just… I never thought about the price."

"Was it worth it?" Dean asked.

"Hell nah. Of course, I asked for _talent_. I should've gone for _fame,_" George let out a small chuckle. "I'm still broke, and lonely. Just now I got this pile a paintings nobody wants. But that wasn't the worst."

"Go on," Sam pushed.

"The demon didn't leave. I never counted on that.. After our deal was done, the damn thing stayed at Lloyds for a _week_. Just chattin'. Making more deals. I tried to warn folks, but who gonna listen to an old drunk?"

"How many others are there?" Sam asked

"An architect… this doctor lady, I kept up with them, they been in the papers. At least they got famous."

"Who else, George, think," Dean urged.

"Uh... one more. Nice guy too, considering… Spencer, his name was. Never did find out his first name. Went off back home to California the second he made that deal. Santa Barbara, I think, last I checked. I don't know what he asked for. Don't matter now. We done for."

"No. no, there's gotta be a way," Sam tried, but George shakes his head.

"You don't get it, I don't want a way."

"Look, you don't – "

"I called that thing! I brought it on myself!" a pause. "I brought it on them. I'm going to hell, one way or another. All I want is to finish my last painting. Day or two, I'm done. I'm just trying to hold 'em off till the end. Buy a little time. Okay boys, time yo went. Go help somebody that wants to be helped.

"We want – "

"Get out! I got work to do."

"You don't really want to _die_."

"I don't. I'm… I'm tired."

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><p>Sam and Dean had quickly made their way to the library after their talk with George. Sam had printed off a couple articles, before climbing into the Impala with Dean. As they drove, Sam read through the articles and called Bobby Singer, asking him to look up any person named Spencer who might have been in Mississippi ten years ago.<p>

Dean, on the other hand, drove as fast as he could, hoping not to catch any speed camera, or any cop's attention. The damn idiot not only had to make a deal with a demon, he just _had_ to move several states over as well, make everything much more complicated for them. The only consolation they had was the fact that if George Darrow wasn't claimed yet, maybe they wouldn't be too late for this Spencer idiot.

"Dean, Bobby and I think we have something," Sam said, looking at his articles.

"Well, who is he? What idiot made the deal?" Dean asked, still not liking the idea at all that someone could make a deal with a demon.

"Listen to this, a guy by the name Shawn Spencer had been travelling America on his motorbike, this rusty old thing that was falling apart beneath him. He got into a pretty bad accident in Mississippi. He was fine, no permanent injuries, but his bike was destroyed beyond repair. He ended up stranded in Greenwood for a while, spending a lot of time at Lloyds. Then, one day, he come across this scratch card and got lucky. He won three million dollars, bought a new bike, and got the hell out of that town."

"Sounds a bit too much like a coincidence. Plus, no one's _that_ lucky," Dean agreed. "What's he up to nowadays?"

Sam had to let out a smile and a small chuckle. "You're not going to believe this. He's working as a Psychic Detective."

"Psychic? What, like your type of psychic? Dreams and all that jazz?"

"I have no idea," Sam admitted.

"Well, if he's anything like you, Yellow Eyes wouldn't make a deal with him to kill him, right?"

"Doesn't mean he can't make some other type of deal with him."

The brother's exchanged a look, and both of them understood. Dean turned back to the road and pushed down the accelerate pedal even more than it was. This case could turn out to be much more dangerous than either of them had initially thought. They could be in a lot of trouble here.

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><p><strong>P.S. I know the distance between the two states make Sam and Dean travelling to California seem a bit unrealistic… just go with it for now. Couldn't think of a way to make it work.<strong>

**Also, please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello lovelys!**

**This Fic is already written, so updates will be pretty regular.**

**Please review!**

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><p>It was sunny day in Santa Barbara, California, just like pretty much every other day of the year. Shawn Spencer was inside his Psych office, practically living in the small office space for the past couple days. He was on a case, hired by none other than Chief Karen Vick of the Santa Barbara Polic Department herself. Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara had been on the case initially, but the Chief insisted on a bit of extra help. Enter Shawn Spencer, Psychic Extraordinaire!<p>

The case involved a twenty three year old fashion student named Brittany Banks, who had been found murdered in her apartment a week ago. The authorities had initially suspected the boyfriend, Emil Daniels, who had been known to get into dramatic and confronting arguments with the young woman. However, after days of investigating, his alibi was backed up with proof and was air tight. That was when Shawn Spencer was brought in. After only a couple days, he believed he was on a roll. He might have even just cracked the case.

Shawn was pacing back and forth in his office, going over the facts again. He knew he had it, he _knew _it! he needed to get to the station and fast. The door suddenly opened, but Shawn didn't turn around, intending to scare his partner.

"Burton Guster," Shawn called out. "I could sense your aura arriving, good to have you with me, my apprentice."

"Man, stop playing," Gus shut him down. "Who else could it be? We haven't had a client in weeks."

"We don't _need_ clients, Gus!" Shawn insisted, turning around. "We get hired on cases by the police!"

"This time, Shawn. _This_ time, we got hired. It's not going to always be like this," Gus countered, putting down his bag at his desk.

"Oh, you of little faith," Shawn joked, moving towards Gus. "Once I go in to the precinct, show off a little of _this_," Shawn smirked, and put his hand to his forehead in his usual 'psychic' way, "They'll be sure to bring us back in more often. Soon, we won't even have to rely on our walk in clients to keep us running."

"You're dreaming again," Gus stated.

"It'll happen, Gus. Just you wait! I'm already lead Psychic of the Santa Barbara Police Department!"

"You're the _only_ Psychic Detective, and even that is debatable. Considering you're not really psychic."

"Don't be such a sour puss."

"I'm just being realistic. We are as likely to be routinely hired by the chief, as you are to start dating that blonde detective you keep flirting with."

"Woah, man. Low blow. And entirely false. Just you wait until we go to the station and I blow this case wide open! She'll be so impressed, I might just get a kiss."

"You really do live in your own world, don't you. we don't even know who did it!"

"Ah, but that's where you wrong, my sweet chocolate friend!" Shawn twirled around and stumbled back to his desk, collapsing on his chair. "I see… I see a terrible murder happening! A poor young woman, killed in her own apartment! In her own _home_!"

"Yes, we know that already," Gus said, rolling his eyes.

"Shh!" Shawn sat up, glaring for just a second before he collapsed back onto his chair and continuing. "I'm seeing an angry relationship, arguing, yelling, so much noise – AHH!" Shawn rolled of his chair and onto the floor. "Oh, so loud in my head! The yelling, the screaming, the incessant _barking_!"

"If you're trying to accuse the boyfriend, we already know it wasn't him," Gus said.

"It's not the boyfriend!" Shawn yelled, finding his way back to his feet. "He's an innocent man! Well, an asshole with an anger problem, but neigh! Not a murderer! I see… I see a dog,… Gus! There's a dog here!"

"Shawn, come on – "

"Gus, I'm serious, there's a dog here! It's barking, and growling… it's looking right at me! Gus!"

"Okay, you're actually starting to freak me out a little, so I'm just going to –"

The door burst open, interrupting any thought that Gus could have had. Two very tall, hulking men in thick jackets burst through the door, staring directly at Shawn. He and Gus blinked twice, staring right back at the men who burst in.

"Where's the dog?" one of the men asked.

Shawn and Gus stared at each other, before Shawn laughed. "Well, clearly, not here. Not really."

"Sorry about him," Gus muttered. "He thinks he's funny."

"You were yelling about a dog," the same man said, pointing directly at Shawn. "What type of dog? Like, I don't know, a hound?"

"What? No… uh, a Chihuahua, actually," Shawn answered mater of factly. The two men exchanged a confused look.

"You're the psychic, right?" the other man asked. "You're Shawn Spencer?"

"The one and only," he said, smiling. "And this is my partner, Billy-Bob Jenkins." Gus glared at his friend.

"I don't get it," the first man said. The second man just shrugged his shoulders.

"Look, guys," Shawn said, making his way towards the men. "I would love to help with whatever problem you giants could possibly have, really, I would. But right now, I'm kind of in the middle of a case. If you want to stick around, or come back in a couple hours, we can deal with whatever you want." Shawn patted the shorter one on the back, and he promptly slapped the fake psychic's hand away.

"I think we should deal with that dog you were seeing first," the second man said. "Trust me, whatever you have going on can wait."

"That's exactly what I'm doing. Dealing with that dog. It's barking has been keeping me up at night," Shawn smiled and motioned to Gus, "Come on, Billy-Bob." Shawn started to turn for the exit, but quickly looked up at the two giants again. "By the way, sweet ride. '67 Chevrolet Impala?" Shawn whistled in appreciation, before walking out the door.

The two men stared at the psychic who just walked out the office before turning back to his partner.

"I'd say he's not always like this, but…" Gus sighed. He reached into his desk and pulled out business cards, handing one to the second man. "We should be done in a couple hours, give us a call if you need any help," Gus said, before making his way out the door as well, following Shawn out.

Shawn was already in the blue Toyota of Gus, a smile fixed on his face, already annoying the hell out of the pharmaceutical salesman. Gus went into the driver's side, and made his way to the station, assuming that was where his crazy friend wanted to go. Shawn stared at Gus, the same smile still there, daring Gus to ask the question he was dying to ask. He knew it would only be a matter of a few seconds before his partner cracked and asked him. just give it three… two… one…

"Alright!" Gus broke, causing Shawn to raise his hands in victory. "How did you know what car he had?"

"Oh, come on, Gus," Shawn said, that teasing tone in his voice, as he started to put his fingers onto his temple, in his trademark 'psychic' pose. Gus slapped his hand down, forgetting for just a moment that he was behind the wheel of a car. "Fine. It's an old car with a very distinct sound that the engine makes, made me know it was an old car, probably an Impala. Took one look at the drivers, and knew immediately I was right, and decided to take a swing at the year. Judging by the look on their faces, I made a good guess."

"Wait, so you heard that car before you even saw the guys?"

"Yeah. Why do you think I decided to burst into a very loud vision."

"Honestly, it's not that unusual for you."

"Okay, maybe, but it was louder than usual wasn't it?"

Gus hesitated. "Barely," he muttered, causing Shawn to laugh.

"Don't worry, young grasshopper. One day, you may just be able to be as good as the master. Though, that's doubtful." Gus glared at Shawn, but continued to drive toward the station.

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><p>Sam and Dean stayed in the office, left there in shock and confusion as to what just happened. They had no idea how to respond to the eccentric psychic they just met. They kept alternating between believing the idiot was really psychic, to being sure he was nothing more than a high functioning imbecile. The two brothers exchanged a look, still unsure what to do.<p>

"So… psychic?" Dean asked.

"I honestly have no idea," Sam answered. "Not any kind that I've seen before."

"I'm with you on that," Dean agreed. The two brothers then started to look around the office, trying to get a better idea of who exactly they were dealing with. "My question is, is he seeing the hounds?"

"That is another very good question," Sam muttered, going through some of the papers on the psychic's desk. "He was definitely just screaming about a dog."

"You mean what he claimed was a Chihuahua?" Dean asked.

"He could just be in denial."

"Well, even if he was, hellhounds don't just appear and disappear. They appear, and they attack."

"Do they? I personally have never dealt with any hellhounds before. Maybe they don't want to attack with witnesses. Maybe they want to mess with their victims. They're demons, after all. They're not exactly going to make this simple and easy for you, are they?"

"You make a good point," Dean agreed. "In that case, we need to keep an eye on our new favourite psychic."

"You mean go to the police station? With our car, that is full of guns?" Sam asked incredulously.

"If you don't act suspicious, they have no reason to suspect us. Come on," Dean started heading out of the office. Sam sighed heavily before following after him. Things were starting to get very complicated, and they were quickly running out of time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello lovelys!**

**Sorry for not updating sooner! I have no excuse except forgetfulness! T****hanks for reviews, follows, favourites! They mean the world to me!**

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><p>"I'm seeing… I see a dog… Gus! There's a dog here!" Shawn yelled. He was inside Chief Vick's office, performing the same exact 'vision' for them, trying to solve the case.<p>

Gus and Detective Carlton Lassiter rolled their eyes at the fake psychic, while Chief Vick and Detective Juliet O'Hara stared at the sight in front of them in shock, not quite sure how to react to their resident psychic's crazy vision.

"Gus, I'm serious! There's a dog here! It's barking, and growling… it's looking right at me! Gus!" Shawn continued, repeating the psych office vision word for word.

"What dog? What does that have to do with Britany Banks?" Juliet asked. Shawn couldn't help but smile a bit at her; she was always so willing to play along with his visions. True, she actually believed he was psychic, but he supposed they'd cross that bridge when they got to it.

"It's a Chihuahua… a small Chihuahua! It is the key to solving this case!"

"Great, thanks for your help, Spencer," Carlton said condescendingly. "A Chihuahua is the key to the case! Great."

"Carlton," Chief Vick warned, even though she herself was beginning to doubt the psychic.

"The Chihuahua is the key," Shawn repeated quietly. He purposely shuddered before gaining composure again, almost as if he had finally escaped the grips of the vision that he was trapped in. "Pinky, that was her name, wasn't it? Pinky the Chihuahua, constantly barking like crazy, morning and night. Then there was the yelling and arguing with Emil, her loud music… Britany Banks was without a doubt the worst neighbour to have, especially if you had a newborn baby who would hardly ever fall asleep. Of course, not worthy of death, but you'd be surprised what sleep deprivation could do to someone."

"Newborn baby? What are you talking about?" Carlton asked, already tired of him.

"Mr. and Mrs. Anderson!" Juliet exclaimed a bit too excitedly. Upon the looks she received from the chief, she started to explain, "They're the next door neighbours of the victim. They have a two month old at home, when Carlton and I went to ask about the boyfriend, they both look like they were about to collapse from mere exhaustion. Add to it a very noisy neighbour, they probably weren't sleeping much at all in the past week. That could really do a number on someone."

"Yeah, but enough to _kill _someone?" Carlton asked.

"I'm sensing they didn't confront Britany with the intention of murder," Shawn said, placing his hand back onto his temple. "I'm sensing they went to talk about the dog. The conversation got heated, seeing as Britany had just dealt with her boyfriend, she was in no mood for another argument. She may have told them to mind their own business, or she might have kicked them out. In a second, just that tiny second, they lost control of their actions, their frustration and sleep deprivation taking over."

"That's great speculation, but where's the proof?" Chief Vick asked. Carlton smiled at the psychic, glad he was getting discredited as well.

"Britany Banks was missing a kitchen knife, wasn't she?" Shawn asked.

"Yeah, but she was absent minded girl," Carlton countered. "She was missing a lot of kitchen supplies."

"I guarantee that if you go to the laundry room of the apartment complex, you'll find a bloody blanket wrapped around a knife. That knife is the murder weapon. That blanket will be tagged with their names. God bless paranoid mothers who label everything they own."

Carlton stared between the chief and the psychic. "Chief, you can't actually be listening to him! that's such a long shot!"

"It's worth a shot. We don't exactly have anything to lose," the Chief argued. "Lassiter, O'Hara… check out the laundry room as Mr. Spencer here suggests.

Juliet O'Hara gladly cooperated, already walking out the office door, expecting her partner to be right behind her. Carlton Lassiter stayed a moment longer, simply to give the Chief a look that insinuated just how unhappy he was with this idea. After it was clear that she wasn't going to change her mind, Carlton walked out the door and followed Juliet to his car.

"So… if you want to go ahead and make that cheque out to 'Shawn Spencer' or something along those lines, that'd be great," Shawn said, with a smile on his face.

"We'll wait and see what our detectives find," The Chief said. "In the meantime, you're dismissed." She smiled at him before returning to her work. Gus and Shawn walked out of the office, happy they finally finished their case. Soon enough, they'd get paid. Because yes, they knew for a fact that that blanket and knife would be in the laundry room. They double checked this morning, and once again before arriving at the station. It would be there, and the killers would finally be brought in. Once again, justice would be served.

"Once again, a case well done," Shawn said happily. "I propose we celebrate with smoothies."

"You know that's right," Gus said with a smile. Both of them, without even looking or hesitating, put out their fists and bumped them. Together, they made their way outside the station, ready to get said smoothies.

As soon as they opened the station doors, they were greeted with the sight of the same old Impala, and the same two giants as they had just seen in the office. Shawn and Gus exchanged an intrigued glance, before approaching the duo from the office.

"I see you two have taken to following me," Shawn said. "I suppose I should be flattered."

"Don't be flattered, be grateful, you idiot," the first man said again.

"Okay, you know what? This isn't going to work. Not until I know your names," Shawn said. "I mean, it's really getting weird. I've got stalkers, the least you could do is let me know who and why."

The two hesitated for a moment, clearly debating whether or not to use their real names. "I'm Dean," the first one said. "And this is my brother Sam."

"Excellent, Dean and Sam," Shawn said with a smile. "What can I do for you?"

"It's more what _we_ can do for you," Sam said.

"We know about the deal you made," Dean said.

Shawn stared at them confused. "What deal?"

"Ten years ago, you were in Greenwood, Mississippi. You got into a motorbike accident, and you ended up spending most of your time in a bar called Lloyds. Ring any bells?" Dean pressed.

"How long have you been following me?" Shawn asked, rightfully starting to feel afraid.

"We haven't been following you," Sam reassured him. "Look, ten years ago, in that bar, you made a deal with a demon. You got enough money to fix your bike and continue your travels, in exchange for your soul."

"Pretty lousy deal if you ask me," Dean muttered.

Sam shot him a glare, but continued, "Your ten years are up, kid. That demon's going to start collecting now, and it's going to send a hound after you. One I think you've been seeing for a while now."

"Shawn…?" Gus squeaked, unsure and not comfortable in this situation.

The fake psychic stared at the two men in front of him, feeling the exact same way as Gus. "Look, you guys… I don't know how you found out all of this, but you're clearly insane. There's no such thing as demons. You can't make deals with them, you can't… sell your _soul_!"

"That's rich, coming from the psychic," Dean countered. Shawn shot him a look. He did_ not_ need to deal with that as well on top of everything.

"You two need help," Shawn said at last. "Now stay the hell away from me."

"Hey, we're trying to help!" Dean yelled. "_You_ made a deal, and now _we're_ offering to help!"

"I didn't make any deal!" Shawn yelled right back.

"Then how do you explain the money?" Sam asked calmly.

"I came across a scratch card and won big. I'm just a lucky guy! Ask anyone!"

"He _is _uncharacteristically lucky," Gus agreed.

"See! No deal with the devil, just pure dumb luck – "

"SHAWN!" a voice yelled out. Gus and the fake psychic glanced at each other before turning around to face the source of that yell. Their eyes landed on a very angry, very panicked Henry Spencer.

"Dad?" Shawn muttered, surprised. "What are you doing here? Did you _walk _here – "

"I think a better question is; what the hell are you doing sneaking around my house?!" the angry man demanded, storming towards his son.

"What are you talking about? What is with everyone and their weird accusations today?" Shawn demanded.

"You did it before, kid. It wasn't funny the first time, and it sure as hell isn't funny the second! Especially now that you've, what, traded in a puppy for some full sized beast?!" Henry yelled.

"Dad, I can honestly say I have _zero_ idea what you're talking about."

"Dammit, Shawn, the dog! The goddamn dog you left outside my house! You did it after the Spelling Bee with that pissing puppy, and now you've left some… some…" Henry stopped talking, his eyes going wide as he stared at his son. It looked like his son's face was becoming possessed, stretching and screaming and moaning. Henry stared at the monster in front of him in horror, already starting to back away from whatever creature was forming before his very eyes. In Henry's mind, there could be only one explanation for this. "Did you… did you _drug_ me?"

Shawn stared at his father in actual worry. They didn't get along at the best of times, but, as much as Shawn hated to admit it, they _were_ kind of family. He still worried about his old man, especially if he seemed to be hallucinating. Shawn started to fear the worst, maybe someone _had_ drugged his dad. Maybe it was an old criminal that his father had put away, or maybe it was someone _Shawn_ had put away. Or maybe…

"Gus, take my dad to your car, we need to get him home," Shawn said calmly.

"Yeah, alright," Gus agreed, and started guiding the still complaining angry man to a blue Toyota.

Shawn turned back to Sam and Dean, an anger in his eyes and burning in him like he had never felt before. "Just stay away from me, okay? Stop following me," Shawn warned dangerously, before following his best friend and father.

Sam and Dean turned to face each other, both thinking the same thing. They had wasted all this time and all this energy. They had gone after the wrong Spencer.


	4. Chapter 4

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><p>Sam and Dean sat in their car. Having followed Shawn and his father as quietly and subtly as they possibly could, they found themselves parked a couple houses down from a fairly big house right by the beach. They figured this must have been where the kid grew up. Sam had called Bobby the minute they started following the Spencers, knowing that getting some verification that the elder Spencer was in fact involved was better than busting in there, and possibly making things a whole lot worst. The two brothers stayed in their car, waiting for some confirmation and for a good time to go in.<p>

It took about ten minutes before the blue Toyota that they recognised from before left the house. As they peered inside, they noticed that it was just the friend that was leaving, not the Spencers. They waited a bit longer, hoping for a call from Bobby. It turned out, they didn't have to wait long. After another couple minutes, their phone rang. Sam quickly answered it and put it on speaker.

"Bobby, any news?" Sam asked quickly.

'_Okay, _this_ time, I'm pretty sure we got the right Spencer,'_ Bobby assured. _'He was in fact in Greenwood the same time his son was.'_

"Why?" Sam asked. "Was he following him or something?"

'_Not exactly,'_ Bobby said. _'I did a _lot_ of digging for this. Turns out, I know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy who works at Greenwood Hospital. The very same hospital our boy Shawn Spencer was admitted to after his accident. Says he never saw anything as miraculous as a man who bounced back so quickly from a coma within a day. Said one day he was in a coma, doctors all expecting the worst, and the next he was practically back on his feet.'_

"So his dad made a deal for his son," Dean said, feeling the guilt and even anger rising up in him.

'_Seems like it,'_ Bobby agreed.

"Right, thanks Bobby," Sam said and hung up the phone. "Come on, let's go."

Dean nodded, but didn't say another word. They grabbed the Goofer Dust, a shotgun with salt shells, and then made their way towards the Spencer Household. Sam was the one who knocked on the front door, and immediately the two brothers braced themselves for what might come. The obviously angry and stressed out old man who they had seen only moments ago, or the son who already hated their guts and wanted nothing to do with them. Either way, they were going to have to deal with a lot of resistance, and they needed to work through that quickly.

The front door opened, revealing a far more stressed out Shawn Spencer than they had seen before.

"You two?!" Shawn practically yelled as he laid eyes on them. "Jesus, leave me alone! I didn't make any _deal_ with any – "

"Yeah, we know kid, shut up already," Dean interrupted. "It's your dad."

"My dad?" Shawn asked incredulously. "Okay, you really are crazy," and he started to slam the door closed. Sam and Dean, however, put their arms out and stopped him, pushing the door back open and forcing their way in.

"Kid, I know this may be hard to believe, but we are trying to help!" Dean yelled, making his way past Shawn and slamming the door closed now him and his brother were in.

"What are you doing?! Get the hell out!" Shawn insisted, but the Winchesters just ignored him.

"Where's your dad?" Sam asked. Shawn couldn't help but glance quickly at the living room, where he had laid his father down.

"Right," Dean muttered and started making his way there.

"Hey!" Shawn protested, but his complaints were pointless.

"Henry Spencer! Just the man we're looking for," Dean announced happily as he entered the living room. The old man from earlier was now sitting up in the couch, staring out the window in fear. "Those hellhounds are closing in, aren't they?" he asked.

Henry's head snapped towards Dean. "How did you…"

"We know about your deal, Henry," Sam announced.

"Deal? You're on about _this_ again – " Shawn stopped, taking in his father's expression. "Dad, you're not actually _buying_ this, are you?"

Henry glanced at his son for just a moment, before turning to look at the brothers again. "You have to understand, I had no choice."

"There's always a choice," Dean said. "You were just being selfish. You just couldn't stand being alone, but how do you think _he'll_ take this? Once you're gone, how do you think he'll feel, knowing that he's the reason you're gone?"

"Dean," Sam warned.

The older brother stared at Sam for a moment, before turning back to Henry. "Lucky for you, we're here to help."

"Dad, what the hell are they talking about?" Shawn asked

"Do you want to tell him, or should I?" Dean asked.

"No, you can't…" Henry mumbled.

Dean waited a couple more moments, but once it was clear that Henry wasn't going to say anything, Dean turned to face Shawn. "Your father sold his soul to save your life," he said bluntly.

"What?" Shawn asked. "That's not… that's not possible, when was this… I mean… how?"

"Ten years ago," Dean explained. "You got into a motorcycle accident."

"Yeah, it was nothing. I've had worst – "

"I'm pretty sure this one tops them all," Dean assured him.

"I don't understand, what's going on? Dad?" Shawn turned to face his father.

"Damn it, Shawn, you were dying!" Henry finally exploded. "You and that stupid motorcycle, it was very nearly the death of you!"

"No, it wasn't. I bounced back just fine – "

"No you didn't! You were dying, Shawn! You had broken your leg and three ribs, your lung had punctured, you had crashed three times! For God's sake, you were in a coma! You were put on life support!"

"But… the doctors said – "

"They didn't know what to make of what the hell just happened! One second you were dying, the next you were up on your feet again!"

"That's when you made the deal," Dean said.

"I had to, damn it," Henry insisted, turning back to his son. "They were going to pull the plug. I was going to lose you."

"So you… you made a deal?" Shawn said, still struggling to believe any of it. "Sold your soul?"

Henry's silence was all the answer Shawn needed.

"And now, the hellhounds are here to collect," Dean said. "And your father's going to hell."

"Dean!" Sam interrupted.

Henry reluctantly glanced up at his son. The look of guilt and anguish that filled his son's features were enough to make Henry wish he were already dead.

"You're going to die?" Shawn asked in a small voice. "Because of me? Why? Why would you do that?"

"You're my only son," Henry said softly, standing up to look him in the eye. "I wasn't going to outlive you. No parent should _ever_ have to endure that."

Shawn stared right back at his father, tears starting to form in his eyes. He wasn't sure if he believed in demons or deals, but one thing was for sure, his father did. And the mere fact that he would do this if in fact it was all true was enough to crush Shawn.

Henry suddenly jumped and stared out the window again, the look of fear in his eyes even more clear than they had been before.

"Hellhounds are closing in," Sam said.

"What do we do?" Shawn asked, not sure where this confidence came from.

"Uh…" Dean started brainstorming quickly. "Sammy, take these two and Goofer Dust. Bring them somewhere secure and keep them safe."

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked.

"I'm going to summon a demon," Dean said angrily. "Once again cleaning up some idiot's mess!"

"Dean!" Sam stopped him. "How the hell are you going to summon one? We're not in Mississippi, the box is – "

"Sammy, all of Santa Barbara, you really expect me to believe there's not a single crossroad here? I know what I need, I'll get it in time. Just keep those two safe!" Sam nodded and turned back to the Spencers while Dean ran out the front door.

"Come on, let's go," Sam instructed. Henry and Shawn followed him as they were lead to Henry's dining room. Sam locked both doors of the room and took the Goofer Dust out of his jacket. He turned to see Shawn and Henry bunched together in the middle. Sam opened the bag and started to pour out the dust in a circle around the father and son. "Whatever happens, do _not_ step out of this circle, understood?" they both nodded their heads, and then they waited.

It wasn't long before Henry started hearing the howling.

"Did you guys hear that?" the older Spencer asked.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Howls…" Henry answered.

"Where's it coming from?" Sam asked.

Henry listened for a bit, before pointing to the door in front of them. "There," he answered.

Sam and Shawn strained themselves to hear something that they never would hear. They waited and braced himself, and for a moment, nothing happened. Suddenly, the door in front of them started shaking as something on the outside was clearly trying to force its way in. Instantly, Shawn started to believe in this crazy theory.

The door kept shaking, kept thumping, until finally it burst open. Sam couldn't help the slight fear creep up in him as he was faced with a flesh eating demon he couldn't see. Quickly, Sam himself stepped inside the circle. All three of them looked tensely in front of them as they noticed the scratch marks of some creature slowly, but surely, making its way closer and closer to them. To their extreme surprise – and immense relief – the tracks stopped just short of the circle. It really wouldn't come any closer, at least not while that circle was intact.

It took just a couple seconds, but soon, the whole room started up with a huge wind. Some of Henry's most prized fishing trophies came toppling down at the force of this wind inside. All three of them stared at the blowing winds around them, confused as to what was going on. It wasn't until Sam looked down and noticed the circle they were making was slowly but surely blowing away.

"Run," he muttered. The Spencers just looked at him. "RUN!" Sam yelled.

The three of them ran towards the door behind them, desperate to outrun a hellhound. Henry reached the door first, momentarily forgetting the door was locked. Sam moved forward, the only one with a truly clear head, and worked on getting it unlocked. It was at that moment that one of the hellhounds attacked. It lunged forward, and they could all hear Henry's warning, but no one reacted in time.

Shawn fell to the floor, surprised to actually feel the weight of the beast on him. He screamed out, in both pain and fear, as claws dug into his leg and he was dragged across the floor to the opposite side of the dining room.

"Shawn!" Henry started to lunge forward, but Sam held him back.

"Where is it?!" Sam demanded, pulling out his shot gun.

"Uh… right above Shawn, roughly the same height as where that doorknob is," Henry rushed out. Sam fired his gun, and Shawn immediately felt the weight vanish from above him. Henry ran forward to his son and helped him up to his feet. Sam turned around and got the door unlocked.

"Come on, let's go!" Sam yelled. Henry supported his son as he limped towards their exit. Sam took over from Henry, motioning the elder Spencer to lead the way. "You got a pantry or something?"

"Yeah, just back here," Henry mumbled.

"Go, go!" Sam urged.

Henry quickly led the way, opening the door to the small room, stacked with shelves and shelves of, well, everything. Sam pushed Henry in first, before handing over Shawn to him. Sam slammed the door shut behind him, locking it just for good measure. With the remaining Goofer Dust, Sam crouched down and made a line right in front of the door.

"Oh, yeah, 'cause that worked so well the first time," Shawn grumbled through his pain.

"Sorry about your leg," Sam muttered in response before standing up again.

Soon enough, the door for the pantry started shaking again. Henry pushed Shawn further back into the pantry, both holding him up and protecting him with his own body. Sam, on the other hand, stood bravely and confidently by the door in front of both Spencers, acting as a last resort barrier. The door continued to shake, rattling even harder than the one in the dining room had before. They knew if the hellhounds got past that door, they were done for.

Henry held his son, trying to block out the growling and barking that he could hear coming from behind that door. All he could do was hope that Dean would be successful in his mission to stop the hounds, to save their sorry asses. His heart had never beat so quickly, and he was genuinely worried, not only for his life, but for his son's. If it came down to it, though, Henry would gladly give up his life yet again for his son's. Despite the rocky relationship that they had, Henry really would do anything for his son. Though he'd never admit that out loud.

Suddenly the door burst open. Sam braced himself, raising his shot gun which was already loaded with new salt shells. The Goofer Dust was holding for now, but Sam knew it wouldn't for long.

"Henry, how many are there?" he demanded. Sam knew he and his gun wouldn't be enough to get rid of the hellhounds, but it would buy them the time they needed.

"Five," Henry answered quickly. The same wind from the dining room started to pick up again.

"Where are they?"

"Uh, one's right in front of you, just raise your gun a bit." Sam did as told and shot. "You got him! Next one to your left!" Sam shifted the gun to his left and shot again. It continued like this for a while. Henry directed Sam where to shoot, and Sam nearly always got them. But the hounds kept coming back. They'd disappear, and as quickly as they vanished, they'd come back.

"Sam, the line!" Shawn warned, being the only one noticing the break. Sam stared down at the broken line, before looking back up at the unseen army of hounds in front of him. The wind suddenly stopped, and Sam braced himself, ready to shoot anything that dared cross. He stood still for a moment, gun raised and ready. But nothing came.

"Henry, what's going on?" Sam asked.

"They're… gone. I can't see them. I don't know what's going on," Henry said.

"Can you hear them? Any howling or barking?"

"No, nothing," Henry responded.

Sam didn't relax, not yet. He could never be too sure. His phone rang then, and Sam reluctantly lowered his weapon to answer.

"Dean?" Sam said straight to the phone.

'_The deed is done,' _Dean announced. _'All alive on your end, I hope.'_

Sam had to laugh, a simple laugh of pure relief. "All alive," he responded. "We've got an injury, but all alive."

'_I'll bring the medical kit,' _Dean said, and then hung up.

Sam laughed again before turning to face the Spencers. "It's all over."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello lovelys!**

**I am so sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out! I was trapped in a hospital room for the past couple weeks. But thank you all for being patient!**

**This is the end guys! I Had fun writing, hope you had fun reading! **

**Please Review!**

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><p>It had been a long, long night in the Spencer Household. At long last, it was all over. Everyone was alive, no one's soul was stuck in hell. They were all going to be okay. Dean had returned after twenty minutes to find Shawn laying on his father's couch with his left leg elevated, jeans cut up high on his thigh. His leg was wrapped in towels and blankets, which had already started to bleed through. It wasn't a life threatening wound, but it certainly was one that needed attention. They had debated going to the hospital, but that involved an explanation for what had just happened, something they were positive they couldn't give.<p>

Sam and Dean sat on either side of the couch, each ready to observe and deal with the fake psychic's wounds. Henry kneeled by Shawn's head, ready to give words of support – well, as much support as one Spencer could offer another. It wasn't in their nature, after all, to be so supporting and comforting. Dean unwrapped the towels to reveal four very deep and long claw marks on Shawn's leg, making up most of the length of his thigh.

"Do you have any scotch, or some strong alcohol?" Dean asked Henry. The question just earned him a stare. "For Shawn, I mean. This is going to hurt, and I think you might want something in your system for this," Dean explained. Henry nodded and went to get some of his strongest scotch, while Shawn just groaned.

"Just distract yourself," Sam encouraged. "Tell me about your psychic abilities."

Shawn groaned loudly, the incredible pain in his legs making him uncharacteristically grouchy and hot headed. "Don't tell me that's real too," Shawn muttered. "It's enough to stomach demons and hellhounds in one day, you're telling me _psychics_ exist too?" Sam's disappointed look did not go unnoticed. Shawn sighed, quickly realising his mistake. "You're one of those psychics, aren't you?"

"It appears so," Sam said.

"Sorry, man. I didn't mean to… I don't know, offend you, or anything."

"Don't worry about it," Sam genuinely assured him. "We're still trying to figure it all out as well." Shawn nodded in response. It was then that Henry returned with a half full bottle and four glasses.

"I figure we could all use a drink at this point," Henry said. He filled one glass up and handed it to his son. "Got the strongest, foulest tasting one I could find," he said, grinning at Shawn's disgusted face.

"My kind of drink," Dean said with a smile. A smile which only widened as Henry poured another two glasses, handing one to Sam and one to him. "And you, Henry Spencer, are starting to grow on me," Dean promptly took a big gulp, already downing half the glass, before placing the cup down beside him.

"Good to see someone who can handle their drink," Henry said with a smile, and both of them stared at Shawn, who was sipping his cup, the disgusted look frozen on his face. "Come on, kid, just take a big gulp," Henry tilted the cup back, forcing his son to take a big gulp of alcohol. As the cup came back down, Shawn sat up quickly, a coughing fit promptly starting.

"Holy crap, dad," he croaked out.

"How do you feel now?" Henry asked, not able to hold back his grin.

"Definitely not thinking about my leg, now," Shawn admitted, before gently leaning back against the pillows.

"Keep sipping on this," Henry said, handing him back his cup. Shawn glared, but did as told.

Meanwhile, Dean started on Shawn's leg. He put a disinfectant on, cleaning the cut and preventing any infection. He then pulled out a needle, and started to stitch his cuts close. Shawn hissed in response to the needle, but the alcohol had done its job and numbed most of his pain. Sam and Dean then explained to Henry in extensive detail how to take out the stitches in a week, maybe two, depending on how it's been healing. Henry thanked the two over and over again, glad he and his son were safe.

"Please, let me get you something for the road," Henry insisted. "You're a man who likes his liquor," he said, now talking more to Dean. "Why don't you come in the back with me, pick something you want."

"Well, Henry, if you insist," Dean said happily, ready to accept.

"But we couldn't possibly," Sam cut in. Dean audibly whined at his brother.

"Come on, now. It's nothing to me, not compared to how much you've helped me," Henry said, already starting to push a triumphant looking Dean towards his scotch collection. Sam started to argue, but this time it was Shawn who stopped him.

"Don't bother, Sam," he said. "My father is a stubborn old man. He's already made up his mind."

Sam shook his head at his brother before turning to look at the fake psychic again. "How you feeling?" He asked.

"Not great," Shawn admitted.

"Your leg?"

"No, that's fine. The alcohol sure did its job there." There was a pause in which Sam just stared at the fake psychic, not wanting to push him. "I just feel guilty," Shawn admitted at last.

"Because of your dad's deal?"

"More than just that…" Sam still stayed silent. Shawn sighed before he continued, "My dad and I… we fought all the time. Ever since my mom left, we were constantly at each other's neck. It was a constant, ongoing war in this house, and neither of us ever seemed willing to give up. When I was eighteen, I left on my trip. I had the accident in Greenwood a year later, and I swear, I didn't know it was so bad. I thought it was just like the doctors said, no serious injuries. I mean, it was easy to believe, I felt fine!

"My dad was there when I woke up. I got so mad at him, you have no idea how much I yelled. And Henry, just like he always did… he argued right back at me. I called him a terrible father and demanded that he stopped following me. He called me ungrateful, and said that he was only there to make sure that I was okay, that he wanted to know that I would live." Shawn paused for a second, clearly letting the memory take over. "Do you know what I said to him after that?" He continued after he recovered.

"What did you say to him?" Sam prompted.

"I told him to go to hell." Shawn shook his head, disappointed in himself.

"My dad and I never got along," Sam said quickly, not entirely sure why he was telling him this. "We were always at odds with each other, always fighting. When my brother was in the hospital, we just kept going at it. As it is, my last conversation with my dad was another argument. And I don't think I'll ever get the chance to let him know that… I _am_ sorry about that."

"Looks like we both screwed up," Shawn said, trying to laugh at his own joke.

"I guess so," Sam agreed.

Henry and Dean entered the room again, Dean looking like a boy in a candy shop, holding a full bottle of scotch.

"Sam, tonight, we drink like kings!" Dean announced.

"Looking forward to it," Sam said, forcing a smile.

"What's up, what were you guys talking about?" Dean asked, immediately knowing something was up. Sam stared at Shawn, not sure what to say.

"Rabies," Shawn quickly responded. "I was just wondering, will I get some sort of hellhound rabies from this cut? I'm not sure I've had any vaccine or anything, and rabies is definitely not something I want to have right now. I mean, do hellhounds even _have_ rabies? I bet they do."

Dean stared blankly at Shawn for a second before turning to Henry.

"And that's my idiot son," he said matter of factly. Dean nodded and turned back to Shawn.

"Now, what are you going to say if someone asks about your limp?" he asked

"Motorcycle accident," Shawn answered without missing a beat. "I mean, wouldn't be hard to believe. I've been in far worse accidents." Shawn quickly took in the silence and the expressions of everyone around him. "Too soon?"

"Yeah, Shawn," Henry said, resisting the urge to smack his son's head. "Way too soon." Henry turned back to Sam and Dean. "Really, though. Thank you for everything you did. If you need anything, well, you know where to find me."

"Yeah, no problem," Dean said. "it's all part of the job. Thanks for the scotch, again. Definitely an unexpected perk to the day. Oh, and hey," Dean pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. He quickly scribbled his number for the two of them. "If you notice anything… supernatural going on here, just give us a call, alright. We've also got Shawn's number, that Billy-Bob so readily gave us."

Henry took the paper from him. "Billy-Bob?" Henry glanced at a grinning Shawn and rolled his eyes. "His name is Gus. Shawn just likes to mess with people."

At this, Dean had to laugh. "Good going, kid. Definitely got me there."

"Thank you, again," Henry said gratefully. Sam and Dean nodded and started to follow Henry to the door.

"Wait, Sam, Dean," Shawn called out from his couch. The others turned around to face him. "Sorry for earlier. For yelling at you, calling you insane. In the end, I'm glad you followed me, or else my big ol' papa monkey might not be here." Despite the jokes, they all could see and hear the sincerity in Shawn.

"No problem, all part of the job," Dean said, nodding his head.

"Plus, we've been called far worst in this line of work," Sam assured him.

"I'm sure you have," Shawn agreed. The Winchester brothers started heading for the door, before Dean suddenly stopped and turned back, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Hey, Shawn," he started. "What did you do with all that money?"

"What money?" Shawn asked, momentarily confused.

"The three million," Dean explained. "You don't expect us to believe you blew through it all in a couple of years, do you?"

"Well, aren't you sharp," Shawn teased. "I did spend quite a bit travelling, but most of it is in savings. I used some of it to buy out my office space for Psych,and sometimes I use it for rent when I'm in between jobs, but for the most part, I'm just keeping it for if there's an emergency, or saving it if I ever want to think about having a family."

Shawn took in the shocked look of his father. "What?" He asked. "I _am_ capable of occasionally acting like an adult, you know."

"Three million dollars?" Was all Henry said in response, still working through his shock. Shawn could only laugh. Sam and Dean joined in, quickly realising that they had just exposed a huge secret in the younger Spencer's life, one he'd have a lot of questions to answer for.

And with that, the Spencers and Winchesters parted, one thought on all of their minds. Everyone was safe.

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><p><strong>The End.<strong>


End file.
